HIBRARYflr 


.  .vlOS  ANGELA 


THE    VICTORIES    OF    LOVE. 


THE 


VICTORIES    OF    LOVE 


COVENTRY  PATUOEE. 


AUTHOR    OF    "THE    AXGEL    OF    THE    HOVSE,"    ETC. 


BOSTON: 
T.    O.    H.    P.    BURNHAM. 

1862. 


Stack 
Annex 


5" 


CONTENTS, 


PAGE 

I, -JANE  TO  HER  MOTHER 9 

II.— JANE  TO  FREDERICK 19 

III. -JANE  TO  FREDERICK 27 

IV. -JANE  TO  FREDERICK 35 

V.-MARY  CHURCHILL  TO  THE  DEAN    •    .    •  43 

VI. -FELIX  VAUGHAN  TO  BONORIA  VAUGHAN  51 

VII. -LADY  CL1THEROE  TO  MRS.  GRAHAM   •    •  65 

VIIL— LADY  CL1THEROE  TO  EMILY  GRAHAM    •  71 

IX.-THE  WEDDING  SERMON   . 79 


2055998 


JANE    TO    HER    MOTHER. 

to 


THE    VICTOBIES    OE    LOVE 


I.  — JANE   TO   HER   MOTHER. 

DEAR  MOTHER,  I  can  surely  tell, 
Now,  that  I  never  shall  get  well. 
Besides  the  warning  in  my  mind, 
All  suddenly  are  grown  so  kind ! 
Fred  stops  the  doctor,  too,  each  day 
Down  stairs,  and,  when  he  goes  away, 
Comes  smiling  back,  and  sits  with  me, 
Pale,  and  conversing  cheerfully 
"*About  the  spring,  and  how  my  cough, 
In  finer  weather,  will  leave  off. 
But  yesterday  I  told  him  plain 
I  felt  no  hope  of  spring  again. 
Then  he,  after  a  word  of  jest, 
Burst  into  tears  upon  my  breast, 
And  owned,  when  he  could  speak,  he  knew 
There  was  a  little  danger,  too. 
This  made  me  very  weak  and  ill, 
And  while,  last  night,  I  lay  quite  still, 
And,  as  he  fancied,  in  the  deep 
Exhausted  rest  of  my  short  sleep, 


10  THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

I  saw  him  kneel,  and  heard  him  pray, 
"  0  Father,  take  her  not  away ! 
Let  not  life's  dear  assurance  lapse 
Into  death's  agonized  '  Perhaps  ; ' 
A  hope  without  thy  sanction,  where 
Less  than  assurance  is  despair ! 
Give  me  some  sign,  if  go  she  must, 
That  death's  not  worse  than  dust  to  dust ; 
Not  heaven,  on  whose  oblivious  shore, 
Joy  I  may  have,  but  her  no  more  ! 
The  bitterest  cross,  it  seems  to  me, 
Of  all,  is  infidelity  ; 
And  so,  if  I  may  choose,  I'll  miss 
The  kind  of  heaven  which  comes  to  this ! 
If  doomed,  indeed,  this  fever  ceased, 
To  die  out  wholly,  like  a  beast, 
Forgetting  all  life's  ill  success 
In  dark  and  peaceful  nothingness, 
I  could  but  say,  Thy  will  be  done  ; 
For,  being  thus,  I  am  but  one 
Of  seed  innumerable,  which  ne'er 
In  all  the  worlds  shall  bloom  or  bear. 
I've  put  life  past  to  so  poor  use 
Well  mayst  Thou  life  to  come  refuse, 
And  justice,  which  the  spirit  contents, 
Shall  still  in  me  all  vain  laments ; 
Nay,  pleased,  I'll  think,  while  yet  I  live, 
That  Thou  my  forfeit  joy  mayst  give 


THE   VICTORIES    OF    LOVE.  11 

To  some  fresh  life,  else  uuelect, 
And  heaven  not  feel  my  poor  defect ! 
Only  let  not  Thy  method  be 
To  make  that  life,  and  call  it  me  ; 
Still  less  to  sever  mine  in  twain, 
And  tell  each  half  to  live  again, 
And  count  itself  the  whole  !     To  die, 
Is  it  love's  disintegrity  ? 
Answer  me,  '  No,'  and  I,  with  grace, 
Will  life's  brief  desolation  face  ; 
My  ways,  as  native  to  the  clime, 
Adjusting  to  the  wintry  time, 
Even  with  a  patient  cheer  thereof." 

He  started  up,  hearing  me  cough. 
O  mother,  now  my  last  doubt's  gone  ! 
He  likes  me  more  than  Mrs.  Vaughan  ; 
And  death,  which  takes  me  from  his  side, 
Shows  me,  in  very  deed,  his  bride  ! 

Thank  God,  the  burdens  on  the  heart 
Are  not  half  known  till  they  depart ! 
Although  I  prayed,  for  many  a  year, 
To  love  with  love  that  casts  out  fear, 
His  very  kindness  frightened  me, 
And  heaven  seemed  less  far  off  than  he. 
For  what  could  such  a  man  discern 
In  such  a  wife  ?     'Tis  hard  to  learn 
How  little  God  requires  of  us  ; 
And  with  my  Frederick  erred  I  thus. 


12  THE  VICTORIES   OF  LOVE. 

And  woman's  love  to  man  burns  dim, 
Unless  she  thinks  she's  loved  by  him. 

Yet  greater  love,  we  read,  has  none 
Than  he  who  for  his  friend  lays  down 
His  life,  as  Fred  did,  nursing  me 
Through  many  an  illness  ;  nay,  as  he 
Did  daily,  working  all  the  day 
That  I  and  mine  might  eat  and  play. 
Yet  could  I  see  no  love  in  this, 
Nor  feel  the  kindness  of  his  kiss  ; 
And  in  the  darkness  would  I  trace 
His  cousin,  Mrs.  Vaughan's  sweet  face, 
And  laugh,  that  made  all  love  mere  debt, 
Till  sick  with  envy  and  regret. 
That  Fred  might  love  the  more  for  nought 
Was  far  beyond  my  selfish  thought, 
And  how  my  feebleness  might  be, 
To  him,  what  Baby's  was  to  me. 

I  prayed  and  prayed  ;  but  God's  wise  way, 
I  find,  is  still  to  let  me  pray 
For  a  better  heart,  until  I'm  tired  ; 
And  when,  indeed,  the  change  desired 
Comes,  lest  I  give  myself  the  praise, 
It  comes  by  Providence,  not  Grace  ; 
And  still  my  thanks  for  granted  prayers 
Are  groans  at  unexpected  cares. 
First,  Baby  went  to  heaven,  you  know, 
And,  five  weeks  after,  Grace  went  too. 


THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE.  13 

To  hide  the  gap  left  by  the  dead, 
I  strove  to  get  more  near  to  Fred  ; 
And  he  became  more  talkative, 
And,  stooping  to  my  heart,  would  give 
Signs  of  his  love  which  touched  me  more 
Than  all  the  proofs  he  gave  before  ; 
And  in  that  time  of  our  great  grief 
We  talked  religion  for  relief ; 
And  thenceforth  many  a  Scripture  text 
Helped  me,  which  had  till  then  perplexed. 
0,  what  a  wondrous  word  seemed  this  : 
He  is  my  head,  as  Christ  is  his  ! 
None  surely  could  have  dared  to  see 
In  marriage  such  a  dignity 
.  For  man,  and  for  his  wife  still  less 
Such  happy,  happy  lowliness, 
Had  God  himself  not  made  it  plain  ! 
This  revelation  lays  the  rein, 
If  I  may  speak  so,  on  the  neck 
Of  a  wife's  love,  takes  thence  the  check 
Of  conscience,  and  forbids  to  doubt 
Its  measure  is  to  be  without 
All  measure,  and  a  right  excess 
Is  here  her  rule  of  godliness  ! 

To  think  of  how  this  doctrine  meets 
My  lot,  is  still  the  sweet  of  sweets. 
I  took  him  not  for  love,  but  fright ; 
He  did  but  ask  a  dreadful  right. 


14  THE    VICTORIES    OF    LOVE. 

In  this  was  love,  that  he  loved  me 

The  first,  who  was  mere  poverty. 

All  that  I  know  of  love  he  taught ; 

And  love  is  all  I  know  of  aught. 

My  merit  is  so  small  by  his 

That  my  demerit  is  my  bliss  ; 

Yet,  for  the  sake  of  only  love, 

And  that  his  gift,  does  he  approve 

His  wife  entirely,  as  the  Lord 

The  Church  his  Bride,  whom  thus  the  "Word 

Calls  Black  but  Comely,  Precious,  Sweet, 

Fair,  Pleasant,  Holy,  yea,  Complete, 

When  really  she  was  no  such  thing  ! 

But  God  knew  well  what  he  could  bring 

From  nought,  and  he,  her  Beauty's  cause 

Saw  it,  and  praised  it,  ere  it  was. 

So  did,  so  does  my  lord,  my  friend, 

On  whom  for  all  things  I  depend  ; 

Whose  I  am  wholly,  rather  who 

I  am,  so  am  in  all  things  new  ; 

My  Love,  my  Life,  My  Reverence,  yes, 

And,  in  some  sort,  my  Righteousness^! 

For  wisdom  does  in  him  so  shine, 

My  conscience  seems  more  his  than  mine. 

My  life  is  hid  with  him  in  Christ, 

Never  thencefrom  to  be  enticed  ; 

And  in  his  strength  have  I  such  rest 

As  when  the  baby  on  my  breast 


THE   VICTORIES    OP   LOVE.  15 

Finds  what  it  knows  not  how  to  seek, 
And,  very  happy,  very  weak, 
Lies,  only  knowing  all  is  well, 
Pillowed  on  kindness  palpable. 

0,  this  unspeakable  delight 
Of  owing  a  debt  that's  infinite  ! 
And  yet,  if  possible,  more  sweet 
The  folly,  vanity,  conceit, 
Astonishment,  and  mystery 
That  he  delights  no  less  in  me ! 

Till  now,  I  saw  no  hope  above 
This  sweet  contentment.     Yet  my  love 
Dared  never  ask,  "  In  the  other  life, 
Dear,  would  you  choose  me  for  your  wife  ?  " 
But  death  now  comes  indeed  to  brino- 

O  ! 

The  bondage  of  the  wedding-ring. 
And  who  can  tell  what's  yet  in  store 
In  heaven,  where  narrow  bonds  are  more 
Narrow,  if  that's  their  present  bliss, 
And  life's  an  image  still  of  this, 
But  such  a  strange  and  glorious  one 
As  is  the  rainbow  of  the  sun ! 


JANE    TO    FREDERICK. 


THE   VICTORIES   OF  LOVE.  19 


H.  — JANE   TO   FREDERICK. 

I  HEARD  you  praying  once,  my  Love, 
That  I  might  be  your  wife  above  ; 
And  this  I've  written  to  be  read 
To  comfort  you  when  I  am  dead. 
I  cry  so  I  can  scarcely  write 
To  fancy  you  alone  at  night, 
When  darkness  seems  so  full  of  death 
That  you  can  hardly  get  your  breath, 
Imploring  God,  perhaps  in  vain, 
For  proof  that  you  shall  have  me  again. 
When  Grace  died  I  was  too  perplexed 
To  call  to  mind  a  single  text ; 
And  when,  a  little  while  before, 
I  found  her  sobbing  on  the  floor, 
Because  I  told  her  that  in  heaven 
She  would  be  as  the  angels  even, 
And  would  not  want  her  doll,  'tis  true 
A  horrible  fear  within  me  grew 
That,  since  the  preciousness  of  love 
Went  thus  for  nothing,  mine  might  prove 
To  be  no  more,  and  heaven's  bliss 
Some  dreadful  good  which  is  not  this. 

But  being  about  to  die  makes  clear 
Many  dark  things,  and  I've  no  fear, 


20  THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

Now,  that  my  love,  my  grief,  my  joy 
Is  but  a  passion  for  a  toy. 

I  cannot  speak  at  all,  I  find, 
The  shining  something  in  my  mind 
That  shows  so  much  that,  if  I  took 
My  thoughts  all  down,  'twould  be  a  book. 
God's  "Word,  which  lately  seemed  above 
The  simpleness  of  human  love, 
To  my  death-sharpened  hearing  tells 
Of  little  or  of  nothing  else, 
And  many  thoughts  I  wished  were  true, 
When  first  they  came  like  songs  from  you, 
Now  rise  with  power  beyond  the  reach 
Of  doubt,  and  I  to  you  can  teach, 
As  if  with  felt  authority 
And  as  things  seen,  what  you  taught  me. 

Yet  how  ?     I  have  no  words  but  those 
Which  every  one  already  knows  : 
As,  "  No  man  hath  at  any  time 
Seen  God,  but  'tis  the  love  of  Him 
Made  perfect,  and  He  dwells  in  us, 
If  we  each  other  love."     Or  thus : 
"  My  goodness  misseth  in  extent 
Of  Thee,  Lord !     In  the  excellent 
I  know  Thee  ;  and  the  Saints  on  Earth 
Are  all  my  love  and  holy  mirth." 
And  further  :  "  Inasmuch  as  ye 
Did  it  to  one  of  these,  to  Me 


THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE.  21 

Ye  did  it,  though  ye  nothing  thought 
Nor  knew  of  Me,  in  that  ye  wrought." 

Thus,  dear,  the  love  of  you  and  me 
Is  love  to  God  and  charity 
To  all  men.     O,  I  love  you  so, 
I  love  all  other,  friend  and  foe, 
And  will,  perforce,  all  kinds  of  good 
To  all  in  need  and  neighborhood ! 
What  shall  I  dread  ?     Will  God  undo 
This  bond,  which  is  all  others  too ! 
And  when  I  meet  you  will  you  say, 
To  my  reclaiming  looks,  "  Away  ! 
A  dearer  love  is  in  my  arms, 
With  higher  rights  and  holier  charms  ; 
The  children  whom  thou  here  mayst  see, 
*  Neighbors '  that  mingle  thee  and  me, 
And  gayly  on  impartial  lyres 
Renounce  the  foolish  filial  fires 
They  felt,  with  '  Praise  to  God  on  High, 
Good-will  to  all  else  equally  ; ' 
The  trials,  duties,  service,  tears ; 
The  many  fond,  confiding  years 
Of  nearness  sweet  with  thee  apart ; 
The  joy  of  body,  mind,  and  heart ; 
The  love  that  grew  a  reckless  growth, 
Unmindful  that  the  marriage-oath 
To  love  in  an  eternal  style 
Meant,  only  for  a  little  while  ; 


22  THE  VICTORIES   OF  LOVE. 

Severed  are  now  these  bonds  earth-wrought ; 
All  love,  not  new,  stands  here  for  nought ! " 

Why,  it  seems  almost  wicked,  dear, 
Even  to  fancy  such  a  fear ! 
Are  we  not  "  heirs,"  as  man  and  wife, 
"  Together  of  eternal  life  ?  " 
Was  Paradise  e'er  meant  to  fade, 
To  make  which  marriage  first  was  made  ? 
Neither  beneath  him  nor  above 
Could  man  in  Eden  find  his  Love  ; 
Yet  with  him  in  the  garden  walked 
His  God,  and  with  him  mildly  talked  ! 
Shall  the  humble  preference  offend, 
In  heaven,  which  God  did  there  commend  ? 
Are  "  honorable  and  undefiled  " 
The  names  of  things  from  heaven  exiled  ? 
And  are  we  not  forbid  to  grieve 
As  without  hope  ?     Does  God  deceive, 
And  call  that  hope  which  is  despair, 
Namely,  the  life  we  should  not  share  ? 
Image  and  glory  of  the  man, 
As  he  of  God,  is  woman.     Can 
This  holy,  sweet  proportion  die 
Into  a  dull  equality  ? 
And  shall  I,  feeble,  have  to  face 
The  heaven's  unsufferable  blaze, 
Without  your  arms  to  hide  me  and  hold, 
Whilst  you  declare  it,  gazing  bold  ? 


THE   VICTORIES   OP   LOVE.  23 

Are  we  not  one  flesh,  yea,  so  far 
More  than  the  babe  and  mother  are, 
That  sons  are  bid  mothers  to  leave, 
And  to  their  wives  alone  to  cleave, 
"  For  they  two  are  one  flesh  "  ?     But  'tis 
In  the  flesh  we  rise  !     Our  union  is, 
The  Bible  says,  "  great  mystery." 
Great  mockery,  it  appears  to  me, 
Poor  image  of  the  spousal  bond 
Of  Christ  and  Church,  if  loosed  beyond 
This  life  !     'Gainst  which,  and  much  more  yet, 
There's  not  a  single  text  to  set. 
The  speech  to  the  scoffing  Sadducee 
Is  not  in  point  to  you  and  me. 
For  "  "Who,"  you  know,  "  could  teach  such  clods 
That  Caesar's  things  were  also  God's  "  ? 
The  sort  of  wife  the  Law  could  make 
Might  well  be  "  hated  "  for  Love's  sake, 
And  left,  like  money,  land,  or  house ; 
For  out  of  Christ  is  no  true  spouse. 
I  used  to  think  it  strange  of  Him 
To  make  love's  after-life  so  dim, 
Or  only  clear  by  inference ! 
But  God  trusts  much  to  common-sense, 
And  only  tells  us  what,  without 
His  Word,  we  could  not  have  found  out. 
On  fleshly  tables  of  the  heart 
He  penned  truth's  feeling  counterpart 


24  THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE. 

In  hopes  that  come  to  all ;  so,  dear, 
Trust  these,  and  be  of  happy  cheer, 
Nor  think  that  he  who  has  loved  well 
Is  of  all  men  most  miserable. 

There's  much  more  yet  I  want  to  say, 
But  cannot  now.     You  know  my  way 
Of  feeling  strong  from  twelve  till  two, 
After  my  wine.     I'll  write  to  you 
Daily  some  words,  which  you  shall  have 
To  break  the  silence  of  the  grave. 
Good-by !     Be  sure,  dear,  heaven's  King 
From  prayer  "  withholdeth  no  good  thing." 


JANE    TO    FREDERICK. 


THE   VICTORIES   OF  LOVE.  27 


III.  — JANE    TO    FREDERICK. 

I'VE  been  for  days  distressed  in  mind 
With  thoughts  of  all  that  you  may  find, 
When  I  am  gone,  to  grieve  about : 
But  if  you  have  it  written  out 
That  this,  my  own  death's  burden,  too, 
Was  one  I  sharply  felt  with  you, 
The  anguish  of  the  loneliness 
Of  unshared  sorrow  will  be  less. 

You'll  think,  perhaps,  "  She  did  not  know 
How  much  I  loved  her !  "     Dear,  I  do  ! 
And  so  you'll  say,  "  Of  this  new  awe 
Of  heart  which  makes  her  fancies  law, 
This  sensitive  advertency 
To  the  least  that  memory  can  descry, 
These  watchful  duties  of  despair, 
She  does  not  dream,  she  cannot  care ! " 
Now,  Fred,  you  see  how  false  that  is, 
Or  how  could  I  have  written  this  ? 
And,  should  it  come  into  your  mind 
That,  now  and  then,  you  were  unkind, 
You  never,  never  were  at  all ! 
Remember  that !     It's  natural 
For  such  as  Mr.  Vaughan  to  come, 
From  a  morning's  useful  pastime,  home, 


28  THE  VICTORIES   OF  LOVE. 

And,  having  had  his  lounge  at  ease, 

To  gp  down  stairs,  disposed  to  please, 

And  greet,  with  such  a  courteous  zest, 

His  handsome  wife,  still  newly  dressed, 

As  if  the  Bird  of  Paradise 

Should  daily  change  her  plumage  thrice  ! 

He's  always  well,  she's  always  gay. 

Of  course  !     But  he  who  toils  all  day, 

And  comes  home  hungry,  tired,  or  cold, 

And  feels  'twould  do  him  good  to  scold 

His  wife  a  little,  let  him  trust 

Her  love,  and  boldly  be  unjust, 

And  not  care  till  she  cries  !     How  prove 

In  any  other  way  his  love, 

Till  soothed  in  mind  by  meat  and  rest  ? 

If,  after  that,  she's  well  caressed, 

And  told  how  good  she  is,  to  bear 

His  humor,  fortune  makes  it  fair. 

Women  like  men  to  be  like  men, 

That  is,  at  least,  just  now  and  then  ! 

And,  so,  I've  nothing  to  forgive 

But  those  first  years,  (how  could  I  live  I) 

When,  though  I  really  did  behave 

So  stupidly,  you  never  gave 

One  unkind  word  or  look  at  all. 

As  if  I  was  some  animal 

You  pitied  !     Now,  in  later  life, 

You've  used  me  like  a  proper  wife, 


THE   VICTORIES   OP   LOVE.  29 

And  dropped,  at  last,  all  vain  pretence 
Of  what's  impossible  to  sense, 
Which  is,  to  feel,  in  every  mood, 
That  if  a  woman's  kind  and  good, 
A  child  of  God,  a  living  soul, 
She's  not  so  different,  on  the  whole, 
From  her  who  has  a  little  more 
Of  God's  best  gifts.     And,  0,  be  sure, 
My  dear,  dear  Love,  to  take  no  blame 
Because  you  could  not  feel  the  same 
Towards  me,  living,  as  when  dead. 
A  starving  man  must  needs  think  bread 
So  sweet !  and,  only  at  their  rise 
And  setting,  blessings,  to  the  eyes, 
Like  the  sun's  course,  grow  visible. 
And,  if  you're  dull,  remember  well, 
Against  delusions  of  despair, 
That  memory  sees  things  as  they  were, 
And  not  as  they  were  misenjoyed, 
And  would  be,  still,  if  aught  destroyed 
The  glory  of  their  hopelessness  ; 
So  that,  in  fact,  you  had  me  less 
In  days,  when  necessary  zeal 
For  my  perfection  made  you  feel 
My  faults  the  most,  than  now  your  love 
Forgets  but  where  it  can  approve. 
You  gain  by  loss,  if  that  seemed  small, 
Possessed,  which,  being  gone,  turns  all 


30  THE  VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

Surviving  good  to  vanity. 

0  Fred,  this  makes  it  sweet  to  die  ! 
Say  to  yourself,  "  'Tis  comfort  yet 

1  made  her  that  which  I  regret ; 
And  parting  might  have  come  to  pass 
In  a  worse  season.     As  it  was, 
Love  an  eternal. temper  took, 

Dipped,  glowing,  in  Death's  icy  brook !  " 

Or  else,  "  On  her  poor,  feeble  head 

This  might  have  fallen.     'Tis  mine  instead ! 

And  so  great  evil  sets  me  free, 

Henceforward,  from  calamity ! 

And,  in  her  little  children,  too, 

How  much  for  her  I  still  can  do !  " 

And  grieve  not  for  these  orphans  even, 

For  central  to  the  love  of  Heaven 

Is  each  child,  as  each  star  to  space. 

This  truth  my  dying  love  has  grace 

To  trust  with  a  so  sure  content, 

I  fear  I  seem  indifferent ! 

You  must  not  think  a  child's  small  heart 
Cold,  because  it  and  grief  soon  part. 
Fanny  will  keep  them  all  away, 
And  you'll  not  hear  them  laugh  and  play 
Until  the  funeral's  over.     Then, 
I  hope,  you'll  be  yourself  again, 
And  glad  with  all  your  soul  to  find 
How  God  thus  to  the  sharpest  wind 


THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE.  31 

Suits  the  shorn  lambs.     Instruct  them,  dear, 
For  my  sake,  in  His  love  and  fear. 
Show  how,  until  their  journey's  done,  , 
Not  to  be  weary  they  must  run ; 
And  warn  them  'gainst  the  blasphemy 
That  Heaven  makes  sin  necessity. 
No  fig-leaves  hide  that  shame  from  God 
Which  kills  love's  root  within  the  sod ! 

Don't  try  to  dissipate  your  grief 
By  any  lightness.     True  relief 
Of  sorrow  is  by  sorrow  brought. 
And  yet,  for  sorrow's  sake,  you  ought 
To  grieve  with  measure.     Do  not  spend 
So  good  a  power  to  no  good  end  ! 
Would  you,  indeed,  have  memory  stay 
In  the  heart,  lock  up  and  put  away 
Relics  and  likenesses  and  all 
Musings,  which  waste  what  they  recall. 
True  comfort,  and  the  only  thing 
To  soothe  without  diminishing 
A  prized  regret,  is  to  match  here, 
By  a  strict  life,  God's  love  «evere. 
Yet,  after  all,  by  nature's  course, 
Feeling  must  lose  its  edge  and  force. 
Again  you'll  reach  the  desert  tracts 
Where  only  sin  or  duty  acts. 
But,  if  love  always  lit  our  path, 
Where  were  the  trial  of  our  faith  ? 


32  THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE. 

And,  should  the  mournful  honeymoon 
Of  death  be  over  strangely  soon, 
And  life-long  resolutions  made 
In  grievous  haste,  as  quickly  fade, 
Seeming  the  truth  of  grief  to  mock, 
O,  think,  Fred,  'tis  not  by  the  clock 
That  sorrow  goes  !     A  month  of  tears 
Is  more  than  many,  many  years 
Of  common  time.     Shun,  if  you  can, 
However,  any  passionate  plan. 
Grieve  with  the  heart.     Let  not  the  head 
Grieve  on,  when  grief  of  heart  is  dead ; 
For  all  the  powers  of  life  defy 
A  superstitious  constancy. 
The  only  bond  I  hold  you  to 
Is  that  which  nothing  can  undo. 
A  man  is  not  a  young  man  twice  ; 
And  if,  of  his  young  years,  he  lies 
A  faithful  score  in  one  wife's  breast, 
She  need  not  mind  who  has  the  rest. 
Yet,  ah,  love  seems  too  sacred !     But 
Life  has  some  knots  which  life  must  cut ; 
And  courses,  having  reason  strong, 
And  not  by  any  known  law  wrong, 
May  trust  themselves  that  they  are  right, 
At  last,  in  Heaven's  most  tender  light. 
In  this  do  what  you  will,  dear  Love, 
And  feel  quite  sure  that  I  approve. 


THE   VICTORIES    OF    LOVE.  33 

And,  should  it  chance  as  it  may  be, 
Give  her  my  wedding-ring  from  me  ; 
And  never  dream  that  you  can  err 
Towards  me  by  being  good  to  her  ; 
Nor  let  remorseful  love  destroy 
In  you  the  kindly,  flowei'ing  joy 
And  pleasure  of  the  natural  life 
'Tis  right  to  feel  towards  a  wife. 
But,  dearest,  should  you  ever  be 
Inclined  to  think  your  love  of  me 
All  fancy,  since  it  drew  its  breath 
So  much  more  sweetly  after  death, 
Remember  that  I  never  did 
A  single  thing  you  once  forbid  ; 
All  poor  folks  loved  me,  and,  at  the  end, 
Even  Mrs.  Vaughan  wrote — "  Dearest  Friend  !  " 
3 


THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE.  35 


IV.  — JANE   TO    FREDERICK. 

FREDERICK,  from  many  signs,  I've  drawn 
That  John  is  thinking  of  Miss  Vaughan. 
I'm  sure,  too,  that  her  parents  know, 
And  are  content  to  have  it  so, 
Seeing  how  rich  our  Boy  will  be 
By  uncle's  "Will ;  and  Emily 
(Sweet  baby !)  will  of  course  approve 
The  first  fine  youth  they  let  make  love. 

I  never  could  get  courage,  dear, 
To  tell  you  this  ;  it  was  too  near 
My  heart.     My  own,  own  Frederick, 
I  know  you  used,  when  young,  to  like 
Her  mother  so  !     I  love  her  too, 
For  having  been  beloved  by  you. 
Now,  in  your  children,  you  will  wed. 
And  John  seems  so  much  comforted 
By  his  new  hope,  for  losing  me ! 
And  all  this  happiness,  you  see, 
Somehow  or  other,  if  I  try 
To  talk  about  it,  makes  me  cry. 
I  hope  you'll  tell  sweet  Mrs.  Vaughan 
How  much  you  loved  me,  when  I'm  gone ! 

And  this  reminds  me  that,  last  night, 
I  went  to  sleep  in  strange  delight, 


36  THE   VICTORIES    OF    LOVE. 

And  dreamed  I  was  in  heaven — mere  dreams, 

Yet,  to  my  sickly  thought,  it  seems 

To  have  been  true  vision  !     Things  not  true, 

As  once  you  showed  me,  often  do 

To  make  true  things  conceivable  : 

So  what  I  saw  I'll  try  to  tell. 

Imaged  in  heaven's  crystal  floor, 
I  saw  myself,  myself  no  more. 
In  such  a  shape  henceforth  I  dwelt 
That  love  me  most  of  all  I  felt 
You  must !     Though  others,  to  my  view, 
Were  lovelier,  yet  the  love  of  you, 
I  found,  was  all  the  loveliness 
Which  there  'twas  given  you  to  possess 
Or  wish  for.     So,  besides  the  glow 
Of  God,  the  same  on  every  brow, 
Like  me  the  angelic  women  were 
Each  with  a  private  beauty  fair, 
Which  was  a  lovely  mystery 
To  all,  but  one  who  had  the  key. 
Our  marriage-robes,  that  round  us  shook, 
Were  love  on  which  the  eyes  could  look, 
On  which,  too,  from  seven  bows  in  heaven, 
Whereof  the  hues  were  seven  ^imes  seven, 
And  always  shifting,  fell  such  light 
As  made  the  expressions  infinite 
In  those  bright  veils  ;  for  brief  above, 
As  here,  was  every  joy  of  love. 


THE   VICTORIES   OP   LOVE.  37 

A  lady  carne  and  gazed  on  me, 
And  laughed,  and  sang,  "  Glad  will  he  be  ! " 
And  one,  "  Love,  here  at  last  achieved, 
Not  only  is,  but  is  perceived !  " 
And  one,  who  beckoned  me  apart, 
Pressed  me  against  her  angel's  heart, 
And  said,  "  'Tis  mine  to  guard  his  wife 
From  strangeness  till  he  comes  to  life." 

Most  like  to  earth's  was  heaven's  good  ; 
Most  different  was  the  gratitude ! 
I  saw  the  rose,  and  felt  the  breeze, 
And  laughed,  and  sang  for  bliss  of  these ; 
And  every  thing  on  every  part 
Was,  0,  such  pleasure  in  the  heart ! 
The  nearness  of  the  Lord  I  knew 
By  mild  recurrent  glows  that  grew 
Within  the  breast  and  died  away, 
And  marked  the  change  of  night  and  day. 
But  this  was  wonderful,  that,  when 
The  day  was  fullest,  all  the  men 
Seemed  women,  and  the  women  were 
Beautiful  babies,  whom  with  care 
They  kept  from  noon's  o'erwhelming  might 
Singing  them  stories  of  the  Light, 
The  burden  of  the  lullaby 
Being,  "  All  praise  to  God  on  high, 
Who  makes  the  babes  so  soft  and  sweet !  " 
Sequestered  from  the  heavenly  heat 


38  THE  VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

And  splendors  of  the  fields  of  love, 
The  lady  showed  me  then  a  grove. 
Breathlessly  still  was  part,  and  part 
Was  breathing  with  an  easy  heart ; 
And  there  below,  in  lamb-like  game, 
Were  virgins,  all  so  much  the  same 
That  each  was  all.     A  youth  drew  nigh, 
And  gazed  on  them  with  dreaming  eye, 
And  would  have  passed,  but  that  a  maid, 
Clapping  her  hands  above  her,  said, 
"  My  turn  is  now !  "  and  laughing  ran 
After  the  dull  and  strange  young  man, 
And  bade  him  stop  and  look  at  her. 
And  so  he  called  her  lovelier 
Than  any  else,  only  because 
She  only  then  before  him  was. 
And,  while  they  stood  and  gazed,  a  change 
Was  seen  in  both,  diversely  strange. 
The  youth  was  ever  more  and  more 
That  good  which  he  had  been  before ; 
But  the  glad  maiden  grew  and  grew 
Such,  that  the  rest  no  longer  knew 
Their  sister,  who  was  now  to  sight 
The  young  man's  self,  yet  opposite, 
As  the  outer  rainbow  is  the  first, 
But  weaker,  and  the  hues  reversed. 
And  whereas,  in  the  abandoned  grove, 
The  virgin  round  the  central  Love 


THE    VICTORIES    OF   LOVE.  39 

Had  blindly  circled  in  her  play, 

Now  danced  she  round  her  partner's  way ; 

And,  as  the  earth  the  moon's,  so  he 

Had  the  responsibility 

Of  her  diviner  motion.     "  Lo," 

He  sang,  and  the  heavens  began  to  glow, 

"  The  pride  of  personality, 

Seeking  its  highest,  aspires  to  die, 

And  in  unspeakably  profound 

Humiliation  Love  is  crowned  ! 

And  from  his  exaltation  still 

Into  his  ocean  of  good  will 

He  curiously  casts  the  lead 

To  find  strange  depths  of  lowlihead." 

To  one  same  tune,  but  higher,  "  Bold," 
The  maiden  sang,  "  is  Love  !     For  cold 
On  earth  are  blushes,  and  for  shame 
Of  such  an  ineffectual  flame 
As  ill  consumes  the  sacrifice ! " 

By  the  angel  led,  in  such  sweet  wise, 
There  did  my  happy  hearing  greet 
That  which  she  bade  me  not  repeat. 
"  Truth  levelled  to  the  world's  low  eye, 
In  heaven,"  said  she,  "  appears  a  lie, 
And  tales  of  the  seraphic  sphere 
Were  scandals  in  the  earth's  false  ear." 
And,  following  thus  the  lady,  she 
Turned  oft  to  gaze  and  smile  on  me, 


40  THE  VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

Saying  how  like  I  Avas  to  one 
She  knew  on  earth,  more  heavenly  none. 
"  And,  when  you  laugh,  I  see,"  she  sighed, 
"  How  much  he  loved  her  !     Many  a  bride 
In  heaven  such  countersemblance  bears, 
Through  what  love  deemed  rejected  prayers." 

Suffering  a  momentary  lapse 
Earthwards,  I  thus  inquired  :  "  Perhaps 
The  open  glory  of  the  Lord 
Will  show,  as  promised  in  His  Word  ?  " 
And  she  replied,  "  What  may  you  mean  ? 
Nought  else  in  heaven  was  ever  seen  !  " 

She  would  have  shown  me  more,  but  then 
One  of  a  troop  of  glorious  men, 
From  some  high  work,  towards  her  came  ; 
And  she  so  smiled  'twas  such  a  flame 
Aaron's  twelve  jewels  seemed  to  mix 
With  the  lights  of  the  Seven  Candlesticks. 


MARY    CHURCHILL 


TO 


THE    DEAN. 


THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE.  43 


Vr.— MARY  CHURCHILL  TO  THE  DEAN. 

FATHER,  you  bid  me  once  more  weigh 
This  Offer,  ere  I  answer,  nay. 
Charles  does  me  honor ;  but  'twere  vain 
To  reconsider  now  again, 
And  so  to  doubt  the  clear-shown  truth 
I  sought  for,  and  received,  when  youth, 
A.nd  vanity,  and  one  whose  love 
Was  lovely,  woo'd  me  to  remove 
From  Heav'n  my  heart's  infixed  root. 

'Tis  easiest  to  be  absolute ; 
And  I  reject  the  name  of  Bride 
From  no  conceit  of  saintly  pride, 
But  dreading  my  infirmity, 
And  ignorance  of  how  to  be 
Faithful,  at  once,  to  the  heavenly  life, 
And  the  fond  duties  of  a  wife. 
I  narrow  am,  and  want  the  art 
To  love  two  things  with  all  my  heart. 
Occupied  wholly  in  His  search 
Who,  in  the  mysteries  of  the  Church, 
Returns,  and  calls  them  Clouds  of  Heaven, 
I  tread  a  road  straight,  hard,  and  even ; 
But  fear  to  wander  all  confused, 
By  two-fold  fealty  abused. 
I  either  should  the  one  forget, 


44  THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE. 

Or  scantly  pay  the  other's  debt ; 
For  still  it  seems  to  me  I  make 
Love  vain  by  adding  "  for  His  sake ; " 
Nay,  at  the  very  thought  my  breast 
Is  fill'd  with  anguish  of  unrest ! 

Yon  bade  me,  Father,  count  the  cost. 
I  have  !  and  all  that  must  be  lost 
I  feel  as  only  women  can. 
To  live  the  Idol  of  some  man, 
And  through  the  untender  world  to  move 
Wrapt  safe  in  his  superior  love, 
How  sweet !     And  children,  too  :  ah,  there 
Lies,  if  I  dared  to  look,  despair ! 
And  the  wife's  happy,  daily  round 
Of  duties,  and  their  narrow  bound, 
So  plain  that  to  transgress  were  hard, 
Yet  full  of  tangible  reward  ; 
Her  charities,  not  marr'd  like  mine 
With  fears  of  thwarting  laws  divine  ; 
The  world's  regards  and  just  delight 
In  one  so  clearly,  kindly  right ; 
I've  thought  of  all,  and  I  endure, 
Not  without  sharp  regret  be  sure, 
To  give  up  life's  glad  certainty, 
For  what,  perchance,  may  never  be. 
For  nothing  of  my  state  I  know 
But  that  t'ward  heaven  I  seem  to  go 
As  one  who  fondly  landward  hies 
Along  a  deck  that  faster  flies  ! 


THE   VICTORIES   OF  LOVE.  45 

With  every  year,  meantime,  some  grace 
Of  earthly  happiness  gives  place 
To  humbling  ills  ;  the  very  charms 
Of  youth  being  counted  henceforth  harms ; 
To  blush  already  seems  absurd  ; 
Nor  know  I  whether  I  should  herd 
With  girls  or  wives,  or  sadliest  balk 
Maids'  merriment,  or  matrons'  talk  ; 
Nor  are  men's  courtesies  her  dues 
Who  is  not  good  for  show  nor  use  ! 

// 
To  crown  these  evils,  I  confess 

That  faith's  terrestrial  fruit  is  less 

In  joy  and  honor  sensible 

Than  teachers  of  religion  tell. 

The  bridal  memories  of  the  heart 

Grow  weaker,  rising  far  apart. 

My  pray'rs  will  sudden  pleasures  move, 

And  heavenly  heights  of  human  love  ; 

But,  for  the  genera"!,  none  the  less, 

Sordid  and  stifling  narroAvness, 

Or  worse  vacuity,  afflicts 

The  soul  that  much  itself  addicts 

To  sanctity  in  solitude, 

Or  serving  the  ingratitude 

Of  Christ's  complete  disguise,  His  Poor. 

Straight  is  the  way,  narrow  the  door, 

Howbeit,  that  leads  to  life  !     O'er  late, 

Besides,  'twere  now  to  change  my  fate ; 

The  world's  delight  my  soul  dejects, 


46  THE  VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

Revenging  all  my  disrespects, 

Of  old,  with  incapacity 

To  chime  with  even  its  harmless  glee, 

Which  sounds,  from  fields  beyond  my  range, 

Like  fairies'  music,  thin  and  strange. 

With  something  like  remorse,  I  grant 

The  world  has  beauty  which  I  want, 

And  if,  instead  of  judging  it, 

I  at  its  Council  chance  to  sit, 

Or  at  its  gay  and  order'd  Feast, 

My  place  is  lower  than  the  least, 

The  conscience  of  the  life  to  be 

Smites  me  with  inefficiency, 

And  makes  me  all  unfit  to  bless 

With  comfortable  earthliness 

The  rest-desiring  brain  of  man. 

Finally,  then,  I  fix  my  plan 

To  dwell  with  Him  that  dwells  apart 

In  the  highest  heaven  and  lowliest  heart. 

Nor  will  I,  to  my  utter  loss, 

Look  to  pluck  roses  from  the  Cross. 

As  for  the  good  of  human  love, 
'Twere  countercheck  almost  enough 
To  think  that  one  must  die  before 
The  other  !  and  perhaps  'tis  more 
In  love's  last  interest  to  do 
Nought  the  least  contrary  thereto, 
Than  to  be  blest,  and  be  unjust, 
Or  suffer  injustice ;  as  they  must, 
Without  a  miracle,  whose  pact 


THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE.  47 

Compels  to  intercourse  and  act 

In  mutual  aim  when  darkness  sleeps 

Cold  on  the  spirit's  changeful  deeps. 

Enough  if,  to  my  lonely  share, 
Fall  gleams  that  keep  me  from  despair. 
Happy  the  things  I  here  discern  ; 
More  happy  those  for  which  I  yearn, 
But  measurelessly  happy  above 
All  else  are  those  we  know  not  of! 


FELIX  VAUGHAN" 


TO 

<•/       A. 


HONORIA    VAUGHAN. 


THE  VICTORIES   OP  LOVE.  51 


FELIX  VAUGHAN  TO  HONORIA  VAUGHAN. 

DEAREST  my  Love  and  Wife,  'tis  long 
Ago  I  closed  the  unfinish'd  Song 
Which  never  could  be  finish' d  ;  nor 
Will  ever  Poet  utter  more 
Of  love  than  I  did,  watching  well 
To  lure  to  speech  the  unspeakable ! 
"  Why,  having  won  her,  do  I  woo  ?" 
That  final  strain  to  the  last  height  flew 
Of  written  joy,  which  wants  the  smile 
And  voice  that  are,  indeed,  the  while 
They  last,  the  very  things  you  speak, 
Dear  Honor,  who  mak'st  music  weak 
With  ways  that  say,'  "  Shall  I  not  be 
As  kind  to  all  as  Heaven  to  me  ! " 
And  yet,  ah,  twenty  times  my  Bride 
Rising,  this  twentieth  festal-tide, 
From  you  soft  sleeping,  on  this  day 
Of  days,  some  words  I  long  to  say, 
Some  words  superfluously  sweet 
Of  fresh  assurance,  thus  to  greet 
Your  waking  eyes,  which  never  grow 
Weary  of  telling  what  I  know 
So  well,  yet  only  well  enough 
To  wish  for  further  news,  my  Love  ! 

Here,  in  this  latest  August  dawn, 
By  windows  opening  on  the  lawn, 


52  THE  VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

Where  shadows  yet  are  sharp  with  night, 

And  sunshine  seems  asleep,  though  bright ; 

And,  further  on,  the  wealthy  wheat 

Bends  in  a  golden  drowse,  how  sweet 

To  sit,  and  cast  my  careless  looks 

Around  my  walls  of  well-read  books, 

Wherein  is  all  that  stands  redeem'd 

From  Time's  huge  wreck,  all  men  have  dream'd 

Of  truth,  and  all  by  poets  known 

Of  feeling,  and  in  weak  sort  shown, 

And,  turning  to  my  heart  again, 

To  find  therein  what  makes  them  vain, 

The  thanksgiving  mind,  which  wisdom  sums, 

And  you,  whereby  it  freshly  comes, 

As  on  that  morning,  (can  there  be 

Twenty-two  years  'twixt  it  and  me?) 

When,  thrill'd  with  hopeful  love,  I  rose 

And  came  in  haste  to  Sarum  Close, 

Past  many  a  homestead  slumbering  white 

In  lonely  and  pathetic  light, 

Merely  to  fancy  which  drawn-blind 

Of  thirteen  had  my  Love  behind, 

And  in  her  sacred  neighborhood 

To  feel  that  sweet  scorn  of  all  good 

But  her,  which  let  the  wise  forfend 

When  wisdom  learns  to  comprehend. 

Dearest,  as  each  returning  May 
I  see  the  season  new  and  gay, 
With  new  joy  and  astonishment, 
And  Nature's  infinite  ostent 


THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE.  53 

Of  lovely  flowers  in  wood  and  mead 
That  weet  not  whether  any  heed, 
So  see  I,  daily  wondering,  you, 
And  worship  with  a  passion  new 
The  Heaven  that  visibly  allows 
Its  grace  to  go  about  my  house,    • 
The  partial  Heaven  that,  though  I  err, 
And  mortal  am,  gave  all  to  her 
Who  gave  herself  to  me.     Yet  I 
Boldly  thank  Heaven,  (and  so  defy 
The  sackcloth  sort  of  humbleness 
Which  fears  God's  bounty  to  confess,) 
That  I  was  fashion'd  with  a  mind 
Seeming  for  this  great  gift  design'd, 
So  naturally  it  moved  above 
All  sordid  contraries  of  love, 
Strengthen'd  in  youth  with  discipline 
Of  light,  to  follow  the  divine 
Vision,  (which  ever  to  the  dark 
Is  such  a  plague  as  was  the  ark 
In  Ashdod,  Gath,  and  Ekron,)  still 
Discerning,  with  the  docile  will 
Which  comes  of  full-persuaded  thought, 
That  intimacy  in  love  is  nought 
Without  pure  reverence,  whereas  this, 
In  tearfullest  banishment,  is  bliss. 

For  which  cause,  dear  Honoria,  I 
Have  never  learn'd  the  weary  sigh 
Of  those  that  to  their  love-feasts  went, 
Fed,  and  forgot  the  Sacrament, 


54  THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

And  not  a  trifle  now  occurs, 
But  sweet  initiation  stirs 
Of  new-discover'd  joy,  and  lends 
To  feeling  change  that  never  ends ; 
And  duties,  which  the  many  irk, 
Are  made  all  wages  and  no  work. 

How  sing  of  such  things  save  to  her, 
Love's  self,  so  love's  interpreter  ! 
How  the  supreme  rewards  confess 
Which  crown  the  austere  voluptuousness 
Of  heart,  that  earns,  in  midst  of  wealth, 
The  appetite  of  want  and  health  ; 
Relinquishes  the  pomp  of  life 
And  beauty  to  the  pleasant  wife 
At  home,  and  does  all  joy  despise 
As  out  of  place  but  in  her  eyes  ? 
And,  ah,  how  tell  of  love  that  glows 
The  lovelier  for  the  fading  rose  ? 
Of  weakness  which  can  weight  the  arm 
To  lean  with  thrice  its  girlish  charm  ? 
Of  grace  which,  like  this  autumn  day, 
Is  not  the  sad  oue  of  decay, 
Yet  one  whose  pale  brow  pondereth 
The  far-off  majesty  of  death  ? 
How  tell  the  crowd,  whom  passion  rends, 
That  love  grows  mild  as  it  ascends  ? 
That  joy's  most  high  and  distant  mood 
Is  lost,  not  found,  in  dancing  blood  ? 
•   Yet  that  embraces,  kisses,  sighs, 
And  all  those  fond  realities 


THE  VICTORIES   OF   LOVE.  55 

Which  are  love's  words,  in  us  mean  more 
Delight  than  twenty  years  before  ? 

Fancy  how  men  would  make  their  mirth 
Over  an  Epic  of  the  Hearth, 
Its  high,  eventful  passages 
Consisting,  say,  of  scenes  like  these  : — 

One  morning,  contrary  to  law, 
Which,  for  the  most,  we  held  in  awe, 
Commanding  either  not  to  intrude 
On  the  other's  place  of  solitude, 
Or  solitary  mind,  for  fear 
Of  coming  there  when  God  was  near, 
And  finding  so  what  should  be  known 
To  Him  who  is  merciful  alone,  i 
And  views  the  working  ferment  base 
Of  sleeping  flesh  and  waking  grace, 
Not  as  we  view,  our  kindness  check'd 
By  likeness  of  our  own  defect, 
I,  rashly  entering  her  room, 
Beauty's  at  once  and  Virtue's  loom, 
Mark'd  here,  across  a  careless  chair, 
A  ball-dress  flung,  as  light  as  air, 
And  here,  beside  a  silken  couch, 
Pillows  which  did  the  pressure  vouch 
Of  pious  knees,  (sweet  piety ! 
Of  goodness  made  and  charity, 
If  gay  looks  told  the  heart's  glad  sense, 
Much  rather  than  of  penitence,) 
And,  on  the  couch,  an  open  book, 
And  written  list — I  did  not  look, 


56  THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

Yet  just  in  her  clear  writing  caught : 

"  Habitual  faults  of  life  and  thought 

"  AVhich  most  I  need  deliverance  from." 

I  turn'd  aside,  and  saw  her  come 

Along  the  filbert-shaded  way, 

Illustrious  with  her  usual  gay 

Hypocrisy  of  perfectness, 

Which  made  her  heart,  and  mine  no  less, 

So  happy !     And  she  cried  to  me, 

"  You  lose  by  breaking  rules,  you  see  ! 

"  Your  treat  to-night  is  now  half  gone 

"  Of  seeing  my  new  ball-dress  on." 

And  meeting  so  my  lovely  wife, 

A  passing  pang  to  think  that  life 

Was  mortal,  when  I  saw  her  laugh, 

Shaped  in  my  mind  this  epitaph : 

"  Faults  had  she,  child  of  Adam's  stem, 

"  But  only  Heaven  knew  of  them." 

Or  thus : 

Through  female  fraud  intense, 
Or  the  good  luck  of  innocence, 
Or  both,  my  wife,  with  whom  I  plan 
To  spend  calm  evenings  when  I  can, 
After  the  chattering  girls  and  boys 
Are  gone,  or  the  less  grateful  noise 
Is  over,  of  grown  tongues  that  chime 
Untruly,  once  upon  a  time 
Prevail'd  with  me  to  change  my  mind 
Of  reading  out  how  Rosalind 


THE   VICTORIES    OF    LOVE.  57 

In  Arden  jested,  and  to  go 

Where  people,  whom  I  ought  to  know, 

She  said,  would  meet  that  night.     And  I 

Who  thought  in  secret,  "  I  will  try 

"  Some  dish  more  sharply  sauced  than  this 

"  Milk-soup  men  call  domestic  bliss," 

Took,  as  she,  laughing,  bade  me  take 

Our  eldest  boy's  brown  Wide-awake 

And  straw  box  of  cigars,  and  went 

Where,  like  a  careless  parliament 

Of  gods  Olympic,  six  or  eight, 

Authors  and  else,  reputed  great, 

Were  met  in  council  jocular 

On  many  things,  pursuing  far 

Truth,  only  for  the  chace's  glow, 

Quick  as  they  caught  her  letting  go, 

Or,  when  at  fault  the  view-halloo, 

Playing  about  the  missing  clue. 

And  coarse  jests  came,  "But  gods  are  coarse," 

Thought  I,  yet  not  without  remorse. 

AVhile  memory  of  the  gentle  words, 

Wife,  mother,  sister,  flash' d  like  swords, 

And  so,  after  two  hours  of  wit, 

That  left  a  hole  where'er  it  hit, 

I  said  I  would  not  stay  to  sup, 

Because  my  wife  was  sitting  up, 

And  Avalk'd  home  with  a  sense  that  I 

Was  no  match  for  that  company. 

Smelling  of  smoke,  which,  always  kind, 

Honoria  said  she  did  not  mind ; 


58  THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

I  sipp'd  her  tea,  saw  baby  scold, 

And  finger  at  the  muslin  fold, 

Through  which  he  push'd  his  nose  at  last, 

And  choked  and  chuckled,  feeding  fast ; 

And,  he  asleep  and  sent  upstairs, 

I  rang  the  servants  in  to  prayers, 

And  after  told  what  men  of  fame 

Had  urged  'gainst  this  and  that.     "  For  shame  ! " 

She  said,  but  argument  show'd  not. 

"  If  I  had  answered  thus,"  I  thought, 

"  'Twould  not  have  pass'd  for  very  wise. 

"But  I  have  not  her  voice  and  eyes! 

"Howe'er  it  be,  I'm  glad  of  home, 

"  Yea,  very  glad  at  heart  to  come 

"  From  clatter  of  those  clever  daws, 

"  Profaning  love,  confusing  laws, 

"To  lean  a  happy  head  upon 

"  The  bosom  of  my  simple  swan." 


Or  thus: 

For  many  a  dreadful  day, 
In  sea-side  lodgings  sick  she  lay, 
Noteless  of  Love,  nor  seem'd  to  hear 
The  sea,  on  one  side,  tumbling  near ; 
Nor,  on  the  other,  the  loud  ball 
Held  nightly  in  the  public  hall ; 
Nor,  vex'd  they  my  short  slumbers,  though 
I  woke  up  if  she  breathed  too  low. 
Thus,  for  three  mouths,  with  terrors  rife, 
The  pending  of  her  precious  life 


THE    VICTORIES   OF    LOVE.  53 

I  watch'd  o'er ;  and  the  danger,  at  last, 

The  kind  physician  said,  was  past. 

Howbeit,  for  seven  harsh  weeks,  the  East 

Breathed  witheringly,  and  Spring's  growth  ceased. 

And  so  she  only  did  not  die ; 

Until  the  bright  and  blighting  sky 

Changed  into  cloud,  and  the  sick  flowers 

Remember'd  their  perfumes,  and  showers 

Of  warm,  small  rain  refreshing  flew 

Before  the  South,  and  the  Park  grew, 

In  three  nights,  thick  with  green.     Then  she 

Revived  no  less  than  flower  and  tree, 

In  the  mild  air,  and  the  fourth  day 

Look'd  supernaturally  gay 

With  large  thanksgiving  eyes,  that  shone, 

The  while  I  tied  her  bonnet  on, 

So  that  I  led  her  to  the  glass 

And  bade  her  see  how  fair  she  was, 

And  how  love  visibly  could  shine. 

Profuse  of  her's,  desiring  mine, 

And  mindful  I  had  loved  her  most 

When  beauty  seem'd  a  vanish'd  boast, 

She  laugh'd.     I  press'd  her  then  to  me, 

Nothing  but  soft  humility ; 

Nor  e'er  enhanced  she  with  such  charms 

Her  acquiescence  in  my  arms. 

And  by  her  sweet  love-weakness  made 

Courageous,  powerful,  and  glad, 

In  the  superiority 

Of  heavenly  affection  I 


60  THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

Perceived  that  perfect  love  was  all 
The  same  as  to  be  rational, 
And  that  the  mind  and  heart  thereof, 
Which  think  they  cannot  do  enough, 
Are  truly  the  everlasting  doors 
Wherethrough,  all  unpetition'd,  pours 
The  eternal  pleasaunce.     Wherefore  we 
Had  innermost  tranquillity, 
And  breathed  one  life  with  such  a  sense 
Of  friendship  and  of  confidence 
That,  recollecting  the  sure  word, 
"  If  two  of  you  are  in  accord, 
"  On  earth,  as  touching  any  boon 
"Which  ye  shall  ask,  it  shall  be  done 
"  In  heaven,"  we  asked  that  heaven's  bliss 
Might  ne'er  be  any  less  than  this ; 
And,  for  that  hour,  we  seem'd  to  hare 
The  secret  of  the  joy  we  gave. 

How  sing  of  such  things  save  to  her, 
Love's  self,  so  love's  interpreter! 
How  read  from  such  a  homely  page 
In  the  ear  of  this  unhomely  age! 
'Tis  now  as  when  the  Prophet  cried, 
"  The  Nation  hast  Thou  multiplied, 
"But  Thou  hast  not  increased  the  joy!" 
And  yet,  ere  wrath  or  rot  destroy 
Of  England's  state  the  ruin  fair, 
O,  might  I  so  its  charms  declare 
That,  in  new  Lands  in  far-off  years, 
Delighted  he  should  crv  that  hears : 


THE   VICTORIES   OP   LOVE.  61 

"Great  is  the  Land  that  somewhat  best 

"Works  to  the  wonder  of  the  rest! 

"We,  in  our  day,  have  better  done 

"  This  thing  or  that  than  any  one  ; 

"And  who  but,  still  admiring,  sees 

"How  excellent  for  images 

"Was  Greece,  for  laws  how  wise  was  Rome: 

"But  read  this  Poet,  and  say  if  home 

"And  private  love  did  e'er  so  smile 

"  As  in  that  ancient  British  Isle ! " 


TO 


THE   VICTORIES    OF    LOVE.  65 


LADY  CLITHEROE  TO  MRS.  GRAHAM. 

MY  DEAKEST  AUNT,  the  Wedding-day, 
But  for  Jane's  loss,  and  you  away, 
Was  all  a  Bride  from  heaven  could  beg! 
Skies,  bluer  than  the  sparrow's  egg, 
And  clearer  than  the  cuckoo's  call ; 
And  such  a  sun,  the  flowers  all 
With  double  ardor  seeni'd  to  blow ! 
The  very  daisies  were  a  show, 
Expanded  with  uncommon  pride, 
Like  little  pictures  of  the  Bride. 

Your  Great-niece  and  your  Grandson  were 
Perfection  of  a  pretty  pair. 
John,  as  from  church  they  came  away, 
Seem'd  finest  part  of  the  fine  day ; 
And  Emily  having  signed  the  bond 
By  her,  sweet  Inocence,  unconn'd, 
Look'd  thenceforth,  did  she  smile  or  weep, 
Like  Love's  self  walking  in  his  sleep. 

How  well  Honoria's  girls  turn  out, 
Although  they  never  go  about ! 
Dear  me,  what  trouble  and  expense 
It  took  to  give  mine  confidence. 
Hers  greet  mankind,  as  I've  heard  say 
That  wild  things  do,  where  beasts  of  prey 
Were  never  known,  nor  any  men 
Have  met  their  fearless  eyes  till  then. 
5 


66  THE    VICTORIES    OF   LOVE. 

Their  grave,  inquiring  trust  to  find 
All  creatures  of  their  simple  kind 
Quite  disconcerts  bold  coxcombry, 
And  makes  less  perfect  candor  shy. 

Bred  to  their  parents'  courtly  style, 
The  trick  of  an  admiring  smile 
Is  lost ;  and  flatteries  less  sincere 
And  authorized  than  theirs,  they  hear 
Unmoved,  like  solemn  little  queens, 
Nor  even  wonder  what  it  means. 

Our  Bride  was  never  once  from  home ! 
So,  when  John  carries  her  to  Rome, 
Thereafter  she  will  have  a  dim 
Idea  that  Rome  is  part  of  him ! 
Of  course  he  knows  that !     Folks  may  scoff, 
But  IIOAV  your  home-kept  girls  go  off ! 
Young  men,  I  do  find  more  and  more, 
Are  not  the  fools  we  take  them  for ; 
And  Hymen  hastens  to  unband 
The  waist  that  ne'er  felt  waltzer's  hand. 
At  last  I  see  my  Sister's  right, 
And  I've  told  Maude,  this  very  night, 
(But  oh,  my  daughters  have  such  wills  !) 
To  knit,  and  only  dance  quadrilles. 

You  say  Fred  never  writes  to  you 
Frankly,  as  once  he  used  to  do, 
About  himself,  and  you  complain 
Pie  shared  with  none  his  grief  for  Jane. 
Ah,  dear  Aunt,  that's  the  way  with  meu. 
I've  often  noticed  it !     But  then 


THE   VICTORIES    OF    LOVE.  67 

It  afl  comes  of  the  foolish  fright 

They're  in  at  the  word,  hypocrite. 

Sooner  than  inconsistent  seem, 

Tve  heard  a  young  male  Saint  blaspheme ! 

And  though,  when  first  in  love,  sometimes 

They  rave  in  letters,  talk,  and  rhymes, 

When  once  they  find,  as  find  they  must, 

How  hard  'tis  to  be  hourly  just 

To  those  they  love,  they  are  dumb  for  shame, 

Where  we,  you  see,  rave  on  the  same. 

And  his  reserve,  perhaps,  is  none 

The  less  that  Jane  is  dead  and  gone. 

Honoria,  to  whose  heart  alone 
He  seems  to  open  all  his  own, 
At  times  has  tears  in  her  kind  eyes 
After  their  private  colloquies. 
I  should  have  fancied,  but  for  this, 
That  time  had  heal'd  that  grief  of  his. 
Frederick's  was  not  a  lively  way 
Ever,  but  ne'er  more  nearly  gay. 
The  Vaughans  have  had  his  children  here 
The  best  part  of  the  mourning-year, 
And  he  comes  with  them,  when  he  can. 
I  think  I  never  knew  a  man 
So  popular  !     Howbeit  he  moves 
My  spleen  by  his  impartial  loves. 
He's  happy  from  some  inner  spring, 
Depending  not  on  anything. 
Petting  our  Polly,  none  e're  smiled 
More  fondly  on  his  favorite  child ; 


68  THE   VICTORIES    OF    LOVE. 

Yet,  playing  with  his  own,  it  is 

With  smiles  as  if  it  were  not  his  ! 

He  means  to  go  again  to  sea, 

Ncfw  that  the  wedding's  over.     "  He 

"  And  his  two  babies  can't  be  nurst 

"Of  course  for  ever  at  the  Hurst," 

He  says  to  Vaughan,  (who,  all  his  life, 

Has  loved  the  lovers  of  his  wife ;) 

And,  having  been  so  used  to  roam, 

He  finds  that,  by  himself,  at  home 

There's  scarcely  space  to  breathe.     Then,  soon 

After  the  finished  honeymoon, 

He'll  give  to  Emily  and  John 

The  little  ones  to  practice  on  ; 

And  major-domo  Mrs.  Rouse, 

A  dear  old  soul  from  Ashfield  House, 

Will  scold  the  housemaids  and  the  cook, 

Till  Emily  has  learn'd  to  look 

A  little  braver  than  a  lamb 

Surprised  by  dogs  without  its  dam ! 

Do,  dear  Aunt,  use  your  influence, 
And  try  to  put -some  good  plain  sense 
Into  my  sister  Mary,  who 
I  hear  intends  to  visit  you 
This  Autumn.     'Tis  not  yet  too  late 
To  make  her  change  her  chosen  state 
Of  single  foolishness.     In  truth, 
I  fancy  that,  with  fading  youth,  • 
Her  own  will  wavers !     Yesterday, 
Though,  till  the  Bride  was  gone  away, 


THE  VICTORIES    OF   LOVE.  69 

Joy  shone  from  Mary's  loving  heart, 
I  found  her  afterwards  apart, 
Hysterically  sobbing :  I 
Knew  much  too  well  to  ask  her  why. 
This  marrying  of  Nieces  daunts 
The  bravest  souls  of  Maiden  Aunts. 
Though  sister's  children  often  blend 
Sweetly  the  bonds  of  Child  and  Friend, 
They  are  but  reeds  to  rest  upon. 
When  Emily  comes  back  with  John, 
Her  right  to  go  down  stairs  before 
Aunt  Mary  will  but  be  the  more 
Observed  if  kindly  waived,  and  how 
Shall  these  be  as  they  were,  when  now 
Niece  has  her  John,  and  Aunt  the  sense 
Of  her  superior  innocence  ! 
Somehow,  all  loves,  however  fond, 
Prove  lieges  of  the  nuptial  bond  ; 
And  she  who  dares  at  this  to  scoff, 
Finds  all  the  rest,  in  time,  drop  off; 
While  marriage,  like  a  mushroom-ring, 
Spreads  its  sure  circle  every  Spring. 

She  twice  refused  George  Vane,  you  know ; 
Yet,  when  he  died  three  years  ago 
In  the  Indian  war  she  put  on  gray, 
And  wears  no  colors  to  this  day. 
And  she  it  is  \vho  charges  me, 
Dear  Aunt,  with  inconsistency ! 

You  heard  we  lost  poor  Mr.  Vere. 
Mary's  pet  Parson  now  is  here, 


70  THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

Who  preaches,  morn  and  evening  too, 

On  worldiness,  towards  my  pew. 

I  daren't  think  "  Nonsense !  "  though  I've  tried, 

Because  the  Devil's  on  his  side. 

Now  dear  Papa  goes  murmuring  on, 

"  Love  one  another  !  "  like  Saint  John. 

What  happens  if  we  disobey 

He  will  not  positively  say ; 

Which  leaves,  you  see,  the  advantage  quite 

With  him  who  puts  one  in  a  fright. 


THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE.  71 


LADY  CLITHEROE  TO  EMILY  GRAHAM. 

MY  DEAREST  NIECE,  I'm  glad  to  hear 
The  scenery's  fine  at  Winderinere, 
And  charm'd  a  six  weeks'  wife  defers 
In  the  least  to  wisdom  not  yet  hers. 
But,  Child,  I've  no  advice  to  give ! 
Rules  do  but  make  it  hard  to  live. 
And  where's  the  good  of  having  been 
Well-taught  from  seven  to  seventeen, 
If,  married,  you  may  not  leave  off 
At  last,  and  say,  "  I'm  good  enough ! " 
Neglect  your  mind !     Folly's  to  that, 
What,  to  the  figure,  is  the  fat. 
We  know,  however  wise  by  rule, 
Woman  is  still  by  nature  fool ; 
And  men  have  sense  to  like  her  all 
The  more  when  she  is  natural. 
'Tis  true  that,  if  we  choose,  we  can 
Mock  to  a  miracle  the  man  ; 
But  iron  in  the  fire  red-hot, 
Though  'tis  the  heat,  the  fire  'tis  not. 
And  who,  for  a  mere  sham,  would  pledge 
The  babe's  and  woman's  privilege  : 
No  duties  and  a  thousand  rights  ? 
Besides,  defect  love's  flow  incites, 
As  water  in  a  well  will  come 
Only  the  while  'tis  drawn  therefrom. 


72  THE  VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

"  Point  de  culte  sans  mystere"  you  say, 
"And  what  if  that  should  die  away  ?" 
Child,  never  fear  that  either  could 
Pull  from  Saint  Cupid's  face  the  hood ! 
The  follies  natural  to  each 
Surpass  the  other's  mental  reach. 
Just  think  how  men,  with  sword  and  gun, 
Will  really  fight  and  never  run  ; 
And  all  in  jest ;  for  they'd  have  died, 
For  sixpence  more,  on  the  other  side  ! 
A  woman's  heart  must  ever  warm 
At  such  odd  ways ;  and,  so,  we  charm 
By  strangeness  which,  the  more  they  mark, 
The  more  men  get  into  the  dark. 
The  marvel,  by  familiar  life, 
Grows,  and  attaches  to  the  wife, 
By  whom  it  grows.     Thus,  silly  Girl, 
To  John  you'll  always  be  the  pearl 
In  the  oyster  of  the  universe  ; 
And  though,  in  time,  he'll  treat  you  worse, 
He'll  love  you  more,  you  need  not  doubt, 
And  never,  never  find  you  out ! 
Not  that  I'd  have  you  e'er  let  fall 
A  decent  ceremonial ; 
But  only  don't  be  cowardly, 
And  half  afraid  to  eat,  if  he 
Is  looking.     As  'tis  own'd  by  men 
They  never  were  so  blest  as  when 
They  paid  us  their  attentions,  'twill 
Be  wise  to  make  John  pay  them  still. 


THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE.  73 

The  proper  study  of  mankind 
Is  woman  ;  for  an  idle  mind 
Calls  simple  what  the  studious  well 
Perceives  to  be  inscrutable. 

My  Dear,  I  know  that  dreadful  thought 
That  you've  been  kinder  than  you  ought ! 
You  almost  hate  him  !     But,  my  Pet, 
'Tis  wonderful  how  men  forget, 
And  how  a  merciful  Providence 
Deprives  our  husbands  of  all  sense 
Of  kindness  past,  and  makes  them  deem 
We  always  were  what  now  we  seem ! 
For  their  own  sakes,  we  must,  you  know, 
However  plain  the  way  we  go, 
Still  make  it  strange  with  stratagem, 
And  instinct  tells  us  that,  to  them, 
It's  always  right  to  bate  their  price. 
Yet  I  must  say  they're  rather  nice, 
And,  oh,  so  easily  taken  in, 
To  cheat  them  almost  seems  a  sin ! 
If  a  wife  cries,  a  man  thinks  this 
Really  shows  something  is  amiss  ! 
And,  Dearest,  'twould  be  most  unfair 
T'ward  John,  your  feelings  to  compare 
With  his  or  any  man's  ;  for  she 
Who  loves  at  all  loves  always,  he 
Who  loves  far  more,  loves  yet  by  fits, 
And  when  the  wayward  wind  remits 
To  blow,  his  feelings  faint  and  drop, 
Like  forge-flames  when  the  bellows  stop. 


74  THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE. 

Such  things  don't  trouble  you  at  all 
When  once  you  know  they're  natural ! 
And  as  for  getting  old,  my  Dear, 
If  you're  but  prudent,  year  by  year 
He'll  find  some  far-fetch'd  cause  the  more 
To  think  you  sweeter  than  before  ! 
My  birth-day  (for  an  instance  take), 
As  I  was  looking  in  the  Lake, 
Studious  if  black  would  best  subdue 
The  red  in  my  nose,  or  black  with  blue  ; 
Your  Uncle,  in  his  loftiest  mode, 
Assured  me  that  my  face  ne'er  glow'd 
With  such  a  handsome  health  !     And  yet, 
As  you,  I  doubt  not,  know,  my  Pet, 
Albeit  we  never  quarrel,  we 
Maltreat  each  other  constantly ! 
And,  by  the  way,  this  is  a  fact 
On  which  in  season  you  may  act: 
Where  two  are  all,  'tis  hard  for  half 
To  fight !     He,  when  I  scold,  will  laugh 
Till  I  laugh  with  him.     If  'tis  I 
Am  scolded,  I  have  but  to  cry. 
Talk  breaks  no  bones,  if  only  one 
Waits  till  the  other  has  quite  done. 

My  love  to  John  !     And  pray,  my  Dear, 
Don't  let  me  see  you  for  a  year ; 
Unless,  indeed,  ere  then  you've  learn'd 
That  Beauties,  wed,  are  blossoms  turn'd 
To  unripe  codlings,  meant  to  dwell 
In  modest  shadow  hidden  well, 


THE    VICTORIES    OF    LOVE.  75 

Till  this  green  stage  again  permute 

To  glow  of  flowers,  with  good  of  fruit. 

I  will  not  have  my  patience  tried 

By  your  absurd,  new-married  pride, 

That  scorns  the  world's  slow  gather'd  sense  ; 

Ties  up  the  hands  of  Providence  ; 

Rules  babes,  before  there's  hope  of  one, 

Better  than  mothers  e'er  have  done ; 

And,  for  your  poor  particular, 

Neglects  delights  and  graces  far 

Beyond  your  crude  and  thin  conceit. 

Age  has  romance  almost  as  sweet, 

And  much  more  generous  than  this 

Of  your's  and  John's  !     With  all  the  bliss 

Of  the  evenings  when  you  coo'd  with  him, 

And  upset  home  for  your  sole  whim, 

You  might  have  envied,  were  you  wise, 

The  tears  within  your  Mother's  eyes, 

Which,  I  dare  say,  you  did  not  see. 

But  let  that  pass  !     Your's  ye.t  will  be, 

I  hope,  as  happy,  kind,  and  true 

As  lives  which  now  seem  void  to  you. 

Have  you  not  seen  house-painters  paste 

Their  gold  in  sheets,  then  rub  to  waste 

Full  half,  and,  lo,  you  read  the  name  ? 

Well,  Time,  my  Dear,  does  much  the  same 

With  this  unmeaning  glare  of  love. 

But,  though  you  yet  may  much  improve, 
In  marriage  be  it  still  confess'd 
There's  not  much  merit  at  the  best. 


76  THE   TICTORIES    OF   LOVE. 

Some  half-a-dozen  lives,  indeed, 
Which  else  would  not  have  had  the  need, 
Get  food  and  nurture,  as  the  price 
Of  ante-dated  Paradise ; 
But  what's  that  to  the  varied  want 
Succor'd  by  Mary,  your  dear  Aunt, 
.  Who  put  the  bridal  crown  thrice  by, 
For  that  of  which  virginity, 
So  used,  has  hope.     She  sends  her  love, 
As  usual  with  a  proof  thereof  — 
Papa's  Discourse,  which  you,  no  doubt, 
Heard  none  of,  neatly  copied  out 
Whilst  we  were  dancing.     All  are  Avell. 
Adieu,  for  there's  the  Luncheon  Bell. 


THE    WEDDING    SERMON. 


THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE.  79 


IX.— THE  WEDDING  SERMON. 

DEAR  children,  God  is  love,  and  love 
Is  everything.     The  truths  thereof 
Are  as  the  waters  of  the  sea 
For  clearness  and  for  mystery. 

Of  that  sweet  love  which,  startling,  wakes 
Senses  and  soul,  and  mostly  breaks 
The  word  of  promise  to  the  ear, 
But  keeps  it,  after  many  a  year, 
To  the  true  spirit,  how  shall  I  speak  ? 
My  memory  with  age  is  weak, 
And  I  for  hopes  do  oft  suspect 
The  things  I  seem  to  recollect. 
Yet  who  but  must  remember  well 
'Twas  this  made  heaven  intelligible 
As  motive,  though  'twas  small  the  power 
The  heart  might  have,  for  even  an  hour, 
To  hold  possession  of  its  height 
Of  nameless  pathos  and  delight ! 

That  good,  which  does  itself  not  know, 
Scarce  is.     Old  families  are  so, 
Less  through  their  coming  of  good  kind, 
Than  having  borne  it  well  in  mind, 
And  this  does  all  from  honor  bar, 
The  ignorance  of  what  they  are ! 
In  the  heart  of  the  world,  alas,  for  want 
Of  knowing  that  which  li^ht  souls  taunt 


80  THE    VICTORIES    OF   LOVE. 

As  lightness,  and  which  God  has  made 
Such  that,  for  even  its  feeble  shade, 
Evoked  by  falsely  fair  ostents 
And  soiling  of  its  sacraments, 
Great  Statesmen,  Poets,  "Warriors,  Kings, 
(The  World's  Beloved,)  all  other  things 
Gladly  having  counted  nothing,  what 
Fell  fires  of  Tophet  burn  forgot ! 

In  Godhead  rise,  thither  flow  back 
All  loves,  which,  as  they  keep  or  lack 
The  appointed  course  and  bound  assigned, 
Are  virtue  or  sin.     Love's  every  kind, 
Lofty  or  low,  of  spirit  or  sense, 
Desire  is  or  Benevolence. 
He  who  is  fairer,  better,  higher 
Than  all  His  works,  claims  all  Desire, 
And,  in  His  Poor,  His  Proxies,  asks 
Our  whole  Benevolence.     He  tasks, 
Howbeit,  His  People  by  their  powers ; 
And  if,  my  children,  you,  for  hours 
Daily,  untortured  in  the  heart, 
Can  worship,  and  time's  other  part 
Give,  without  rough  recoils  of  sense, 
To  claims  ingrate  of  indigence, 
Happy  are  you,  and  fit  to  be 
Wrought  to  rare  heights  of  sanctity, 
For  the  humble  to  grow  humbler  at. 
But  if  the  flying  spirit  falls  flat, 
After  the  modest  spell  of  prayer 
That  saves  the  day  from  sin  and  care, 


THE    VICTORIES    OF    LOVE.  81 

And  the  upward  eye  a  void  descries, 
And  praises  are  hyprocrisies, 
And,  in  the  soul,  o'erstrain'd  for  grace, 
A  godless  anguish  grows  apace ; 
Or  if  impartial  charity 
Seems  in  the  act  a  sordid  lie, 
Do  not  infer  you  cannot  please 
God,  or  that  He  his  promises 
Postpones,  but  be  content  to  love 
No  more  than  He  accounts  enough, 
Leaving  Christ's  right  and  left  in  heaven 
To  be  to  them,  unenvied.  given 
For  whom  it  is  prepared.     Let  us, 
Who  are  but  babes  in  Christ,  think  thus 
(Admiring  them  whose  skill  it  suits 
To  adore,  unscath'd,  God's  attributes), 
That  all  ambition  bears  a  curse ; 
And  none,  if  height  metes  error,  worse 
Than  his  who  sets  his  hope  on  more 
Godliness  than  God  made  him  for. 
At  least,  leave  distant  worlds  alone 
Till  you  are  native  to  your  own ! 
Account  them  poor  enough  who  want 
Any  good  thing  which  you  can  grant, 
And  fathom  first  the  depths  of  life 
In  dues  of  Husband  and  of  Wife, 
Child,  Mother,  Father :  simple  keys 
To  many  Bible  mysteries  ! 

The  love  of  marriage  claims,  above 
All  special  kinds,  the  name  of  Love, 
6 


82  THE   VICTORIES    OF    LOVE. 

As  being,  though  not  so  saintly  high 

As  what  seeks  Heaven  with  single  eye, 

Sole  perfect.     Equal  and  entire, 

Therein,  Benevolence,  Desire, 

Elsewhere  ill-joined,  or  found  apart, 

Become  the  pulses  of  one  heart, 

Which  now  contracts  and  now  dilates, 

And,  each  to  the  height  exalting,  mates 

Self-seeking  to  self-sacrifice. 

Nay,  in  its  subtle  paradise 

(When  purest),  this  one  love  unites 

All  modes  of  these  two  opposites, 

All  balanced  in  accord  so  rich 

Who  may  determine  which  is  which  ? 

Chiefly  God's  love  does  in  it  live, 

And  nowhere  else  so  sensitive  ; 

For  each  is  all  the  other's  eye, 

In  the  vague  vast  of  Deity, 

Can  comprehend  and  so  contain 

As  still  to  touch  and  ne'er  to  strain 

The  fragile  nerves  of  joy.     And,  then. 

'Tis  such  a  wise  goodwill  to  men 

And  politic  economy 

As  in  d,  prosperous  state  we  see, 

Where  every  plot  of  common  land 

Is  yielded  to  some  private  hand 

To  fence  about  and  cultivate. 

Does  narrowness  its  praise  abate  ? 

Nay,  if  a  brook  its  banks  o'erpass 

'Tis  not  a  sea,  but  a  morass  ; 


THE   VICTORIES    OF    LOVE.  83 

And  the  infinite  of  man  is  found 
But  in  the  beating  of  its  bound. 

The  Word  of  God  alone  can  lure 
Belief  to  the  snowy  tops  obscure 
Of  marriage  truth.     "What  wildest  guess 
Of  love's  most  innocent  loftiness 
Ere  dared  to  dream  of  its  own  height, 
Till  that  bold  sun-gleam  quenched  the  night, 
Showing  Heaven's  chosen  symbol  where 
The  torch  of  Psyche  flash'd  despair  ; 
Proclaiming  love,  in  things  divine, 
Still  to  be  male  and  feminine  ; 
Foretelling,  in  the  Song  of  Songs, 
Which  time  makes  clear  as  it  prolongs, 
Christ's  nuptials  with  the  Church,  (far  more, 
My  children,  than  a  metaphor  !) 
And  still,  by  names  of  Bride  and  Wife, 
Husband  and  Bridegroom,  heav'n's  own  life 
Picturing,  so  proving  their's  to  be 
The  Earth's  unearthliest  sanctity. 

But,  dear  my  children,  heights  are  heights 
And  hardly  scaled.     The  best  delights 
Of  even  this  homeliest  passion  are 
In  the  most  perfect  souls  so  rare, 
That  they  who  feel  them  are  as  men 
Sailing  the  Southern  Ocean,  when, 
At  midnight,  they  look  up  and  eye 
The  starry  Cross  and  a  strange  sky 
Of  brighter  stars,  and  sad  thoughts  come 
To  each  how  far  he  is  from  home. 


84  THE   VICTOKIES    OF    LOVE. 

God's  Truth,  when  most  it  thwarts  our  wills 
In  show,  then  most  in  fact  fulfils. 
Love's  nuptial  highest,  wherefore,  see 
In  the  doctrine  of  virginity  ! 
For  what's  the  virgin's  special  crown 
But  that  which  Love  in  faith  lays  down, 
Transmuted,  without  shade  of  loss, 
By  the  mere  contact  of  the  Cross, 
To  what  love  nuptial  oft  makes  vow 
With  sighs  to  be,  but  knows  not  how ! 
Could  lovers,  at  their  dear  wish,  blend, 
'Twould  kill  the  bliss  which  they  intend : 
For  joy  is  love's  obedience 
Against  the  law  of  natural  sense  ; 
And  those  perpetual  yearnings  sweet 
Of  lives  which  fancy  they  can  meet 
Are  given  that  lovers  never  may 
Be  without  costly  gifts  to  lay 
On  the  high  altar  of  true  love 
In  hours  of  vestal  joy.     Men  move, 
Frantic,  like  comets,  to  their  bliss, 
Forgetting  that  they  always  miss  ; 
And  this  perpetual,  fond  mistake, 
Which  love  will  ne'er  learn  not  to  make, 
On  earth,  to  seek  and  fly  the  sun 
By  turns,  around  which  love  should  run, 
Perverts  the  ineifable  delight 
Of  service  guerdon'd  with  full  sight, 
And  pathos  of  a  hopeless  want, 
To  an  unreal  victory's  vaunt 


THE   VICTORIES    OF    LOVE.  85 

And  plaint  of  an  unreal  defeat, 
Languor  and  passion. 

Misconceit 

May  also  be  of  vestal  life. 
The  Virgin's  self  was  Joseph's  Wife, 
And  bridal  promises  are  still 
The  goal  that  glads  the  virgin  will, 
Whose  nature  doth  indeed  subsist 
There  where  the  outward  forms  are  miss'd, 
In  all  who  learn  and  keep  the  sense 
Divine  of  "  due  benevolence," 
Seeking  for  aye,  without  alloy 
Of  selfishness,  another's  joy, 
And  finding,  in  degrees  unknown, 
That  which  in  act  they  shunned,  their  own ; 
For  all  delights  of  earthly  love 
Are  shadows  of  the  heavens,  and  move 
As  other  shadows  do  :  they  flee 
From  him  that  follows  them,  and  he 
Who  flies,  for  ever  finds  his  feet 
Embraced  by  their  pursuings  sweet. 

But  each  must  learn  that  Clmst's  Cross  is 
Safety,  ere  he  can  find  it  bliss. ' 
The  powers  that  nature's  powers  can  stem 
Must  come  to  us,  not  we  to  them. 
The  heavenward  soul  no  measure  keeps, 
But,  lark-like,  soars  by  wayward  leaps  ; 
And  highest  achievements  here  befall, 
As  elswhere,  expectations  small. 
Then,  even  in  love  humane,  do  I 
Not  counsel  aspirations  high, 


86  THE   VICTORIES    OF    LOVE. 

So  much  as  sweet  and  regular 
Use  of  the  good  in  which  we  are. 
As  when  a  man  along  the  ways 
"Walks,  and  a  sudden  music  plays, 
His  step  unchanged,  he  steps  in  time, 
So  let  your  grace  with  Nature  chime, 
Her  primal  forces  burst  like  straws 
The  bonds  of  uncongenial  laws, 
And  those  who  conquer  her  are  they 
Who  comprehend  her  and  obey  ; 
Which  let  your  one  ambition  be  ; 
For  pride  of  soaring  sanctity 
Revolts  to  hell ;  and  that  which  needs 
The  worlds  high  places,  and  succeeds, 
Suffers  as  if  a  level  shock'd 
The  upstepping  foot.     Be  ye  not  mock'd  : 
Right  life  is  glad  as  well  as  just, 
And,  rooted  strong  in  "  This  I  must," 
It  bears  aloft  the  blossom  gay 
And  zephyr-toss'd,  of  "  This  I  may  ;  " 
Whereby  the  complex  heavens  rojoice 
In  fruits  of  uncommauded  choice. 

This  still  observe  :  seeking  delight, 
Esteem  success  the  test  of  right ; 
For  'gainst  God's  will  much  may  be  done 
But  nought  enjoy'd,  and  pleasures  none 
Exist,  but,  like  to  springs  of  steel, 
Active  no  longer  than  they  feel 
The  checks  that  make  them  serve  the  soul, 
They  get  their  vigor  from  control. 


THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE.  87 

Wherefore,  dear  children,  keep  but  well 
The  Church's  indispensable 
First  precepts,  and  she  then  allows, 
Nay,  bids  a  man  leave,  for  his  spouse, 
Even  his  heavenly  Father's  awe, 
At  times,  and  her,  his  Mother's   law, 
Construed  in  its  extremer  sense. 
Jehovah's  mild  magnipotence 
Smiles  to  behold  His  children  play 
In  their  own  free  and  childish  way, 
And  can  His  fullest  praise  descry 
In  their  exuberant  liberty. 

Happy  who  in  their  lives  are  seen 
At  all  times  in  the  golden  mean, 
Who,  having  learn'd  and  understood 
The  glory  of  the  central  good, 
And  how  souls  ne'er  may  match  or  merg» 
But  as  they  thitherward  converge, 
Nor  loves  outlast  the  thorn's  brief  flame, 
Unless  God  burns  within  the  same, 
Can  yet,  with  no  proud  disesteem 
Of  mortal  love's  prophetic  dream, 
Take,  in  its  innocent  pleasures,  part, 
With  infantine,  untroubled  heart, 
And  faith  that  oft  t'ward  heav'n's  far  Spring, 
Sleeps,  like  the  swallow,  on  the  wing. 

Of  wedlock's  perils  all  the  worst 
By  ignorance  are  bred  and  nurst. 
Lovers,  once  married,  deem  their  bond 
Then  perfect,  scanning  nought  beyond 


THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE. 

For  love  to  do  but  to  sustain 
The  spousal  hour's  completed  gain. 
But  time  and  a  right  life  alone 
Fulfil  what  is  that  hour  foreshown. 
The  Bridegroom  and  the  Bride  withal 
Are  but  unwrought  material 
Of  marriage  ;  nay,  so  far  is  love, 
Thus  crown'd,  from  being  thereto  enough, 
Without  the  long,  compulsive  awe 
Of  duty,  that  the  bond  of  law 
Does  oftener  marriage  love  evoke, 
Than  love,  which  does  not  wear  the  yoke 
Of  Vgal  vows,  submits  to  be 
Self-rein'd  from  ruinous  liberty. 
Lovely  is  love  ;  but  age  well  knows 
'Twas  law  which  kept  the  lover's  vows 
Inviolate  through  the  year  or  years 
Of  worship  pieced  with  panic  fears, 
When  she  who  lay  within  his  breast 
Seem'd  of  all  women  perhaps  the  best, 
But  not  the  whole,  of  womankind, 
And  love,  in  his  yet  wayward  mind, 
Had  ghastly  doubts  its  precious  life 
Was  pledged  for  aye  to  the  wrong  wife. 

Could  it  be  else  ?     A  youth  pursues 
A  maid,  whom  chance,  not  he,  did  choose, 
Till  to  his  strange  arms  hurries  she 
In  a  despair  of  modesty. 
Then  simply,  and  without  pretence 
Of  insight  or  experience, 


THE    VICTOKIES    OF   LOVE.  89 

They  plight  their  VOAVS.     The  parents  say, 

"  We  cannot  speak  them  yea  or  nay  ; 

"  The  thing  proceedeth  from  the  Lord  !  " 

And  wisdom  still  approves  their  word  ; 

For  God  created  so  these  two 

They  match  as  Avell  as  others  do 

That  take  more  pains,  and  trust  Him  less 

Who  rarely  fails,  if  ask'd  to  bless 

His  children's  hopeless  ignorance, 

And  blind  election  of  life's  chance. 

Verily,  choice  not  matters  much, 

It  but  the  woman's  truly  such, 

And  the  young  man  has  led  the  life 

Without  Avhich  how  shall  e'er  the  wife 

Be  the  one  woman  in  the  world  ? 

Love's  sensitive  tendrils  sicken,  curl'd 

Round  Folly's  former  stay  ;  for  'tis 

The  doom  of  an  unsariction'd  bliss 

To  mock  some  good  that,  gain'd,  keeps  still 

The  taint  of  the  rejected  ill. 

Howbeit,  tho'  both  be  true,  that  she 
Of  whom  the  maid  was  prophecy 
As  yet  lives  not,  and  Love  rebels 
Against  the  law  of  any  else  ; 
And  as  a  steed  takes  blind  alarm, 
Disowns  the  rein,  and  hunts  his  harm, 
So,  misdespairing  word  and  act 
May  now  perturb  the  happiest  pact. 
The  more,  indeed,  is  love,  the  more 
Peril  to  love  is  now  in  store. 


90  THE    VICTORIES    OF   LOVE. 

Against  it,  nothing  can  be  done 

But  only  this  :  leave  ill  alone  ! 

Who  tries  to  mend  his  wife  succeeds 

As  he  who  knows  not  what  he  needs. 

He  much  affronts  a  worth  as  high 

As  his,  and  that  equality 

Of  spirits  in  which  abide  the  grace 

And  joy  of  her  subjected  place  ; 

And  does  the  still  growth  check  and  blur 

Of  contraries,  confusing  her 

Who  better  knows  what  he  desires 

Than  he,  and  to  that  mark  aspires 

With  perfect?  zeal,  and  a  deep  wit 

Which  nothing  helps  but  faith  in  it. 

So,  handsomely  ignoring  all 
In  which  love's  promise  short  may  fall 
Of  full  performance,  honor  that, 
As  won,  which  aye  love  worketh  at ! 
It  is  but  as  the  pedigree 
Of  perfectness  which  is  to  be 
That  mortal  good  can  honor  claim  ; 
Yet  honor  here  to  scant  were  shame 
And  robbery ;  for  it  is  the  mould 
Wherein  to  beauty  runs  the  gold 
Of  good  intention,  and  the  stay 
That  leads  aloft  the  ivy  stray 
Of  human  sensibilities. 

Such  honor,  with  a  conduct  wise 
In  common  things,  as,  not  to  steep 
The  lofty  mind  of  love  in  sleep 


THE   VICTORIES    OF    LOVE.  91 

Of  overmuch  familiarness ; 

Not  to  degrade  its  kind  caress 

As  those  do  that  can  feel  no  more, 

So  give  themselves  to  pleasures  o'er 

Not  to  let  morning-sloth  destroy 

The  evening-flower,  domestic  joy  ; 

Not  by  uxoriousuess  to  chill 

The  frank  devotion  of  her  will 

Who  can  but  half  her  love  confer 

On  him  that  cares  for  nought  but  her : 

These,  and  like  obvious  prudencies 

Observed,  he's  safest  that  relies, 

For  the  hope  she  will  not  always  seem, 

Caught,  but  a  laurel  or  a  stream, 

On  time  ;  on  her  unsearchable 

Love-wisdom ;  on  their  Avork  done  well, 

Discreet  with  mutual  aid  ;  on  might 

Of  shared  affliction  and  delight ; 

On  much  whereof  hearts  keep  account, 

Though  heads  forget ;  on  babes,  chief  fount 

Of  union,  and  for  which  babes  are 

No  less  than  this  for  them,  nay  far 

More,  for  the  bond  of  man  and  wife 

To  the  very  verge  of  future  life 

Strengthens,  and  yearns  for  brighter  day 

While  others,  with  their  nse,  decay, 

And,  though  love-nuptial  purpose  keeps 

Of  offspring,  as  the  centre  sleeps 

Within  the  wheel,  transmitting  thence 

Fury  to  the  circumference, 


92  THE   VICTORIES   OF   LOVE. 

Love's  self  the  noblest  offspring  is 
And  sanction  of  the  nuptial  kiss  ; 
Lastly,  on  either's  primal  curse, 
Which  health  and  sympathy  reverse 
To  blessings. 

God,  who  may  be  well 
Jealous  of  His  chief  miracle, 
Bids  sleep  the  meddling  soul  of  man, 
Through  the  long  process  of  this  plan, 
Whereby,  from  his  unweeting  side, 
The  wife's  created,  and  tHe  bride, 
That  chance  one  of  her  strange,  sweet  sex, 
He  to  His  glad  life  did  annex, 
Grows,  more  and  more,  by  day  and  night, 
The  one  in  the  whole  world  opposite 
Of  him,  and  in  her  nature  all 
So  suited  and  reciprocal 
To  his  especial  form  of  sense, 
Affection  and  intelligence, 
That,  whereas,  in  its  earlier  day, 
The  least  flaw  threaten' d  love's  decay, 
No  clime  could  now,  on  either's  part, 
Do  more  than  make  the  other  start, 
And,  full  of  pity,  say,  "It  is 
"  I,  somehow  I,  who  have  done  this  ;  " 
And,  whereas  love  at  first  had  strange 
Relapses  into  taste  for  change, 
It  now  finds  (wondrous  this,  but  true  !) 
The  long-accustom'd  only  new, 


THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE.  93 

And  the  untried  common  ;  and,  whereas 
An  equal  seeming  danger  was 
Of  likeness  lacking  joy  and  force, 
Or  difference  reaching  to  divorce, 
Now  can  the  finished  lover  see 
Marvel  of  me  most  far  from  me, 
Whom,  without  pride,  he  may  admire, 
"Without  Narcissus'  doom,  desire, 
Serve  without  selfishness,  and  love 
"  Even  as  himself,"  in  sense  above 
Niggard  "  as  much,"  yea,  as  she  is 
The  only  part  of  him  that's  his. 

I  do  not  say  Love's  youth  returns ; 
Love's  youth  which  so  divinely  yearns ! 
But  just  esteem  of  present  good 
Shows  all  regret  such  gratitude 
As  if  the  sparrow  in  her  nest, 
Her  woolly  young  beneath  her  breast, 
Should  these  despise,  and  sorrow  for 
Her  five  blue  eggs  that  are  no  more. 
Nor  say,  the  fruit  has  quite  the  scope 
Of  the  flower's  spiritual  hope. 
Love's  best  is  service,  and  of  this 
Howe'er  devout,  use  dulls  the  bliss. 
Though  love  is  all  of  earth  that's  dear. 
Its  home,  my  children,  is  not  here. 
The  pathos  of  eternity 
Does  in  its  fullest  pleasure  sigh. 

Be  grateful  and  most  glad  thereof. 
Parting,  as  'tis,  is  pain  enough. 


94  THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE. 

If  love,  by  joy,  has  learn'd  to  give 
Praise  with  the  nature  sensitive, 
At  last,  to  God,  we  then  possess 
The  end  of  mortal  happiness, 
And  henceforth  very  well  may  wait 
The  unbarring  of  the  golden  gate 
Wherethrough,  already,  faith  can  see 
That  apter  to  each  wish  than  we 
Is  God,  and  curious  to  bless 
Better  than  we  devise  or  guess  ; 
Not  without  condescending  craft 
To  disappoint  with  joy,  and  waft 
Our  vessels  frail,  when  worst  He  mocks 
The  sight  with  breakers  and  with  rocks, 
To  happiest  havens.     You  have  heard 
Your  bond  death-sentenced  by  His  Word. 
What  if,  in  heaven,  the  name  be  o'er, 
Because  the  thing  is  so  much  more  ? 
All  are,  'tis  writ,  as  angels  there ; 
Nor  male  nor  female.     Each  a  stair 
In  the  hierarchical  ascent 
Of  active  and  recipient 
Affections  ;  what  if  all  are  both 
By  turn,  as  they  themselves  betroth 
To  adoring  what  is  next  above, 
Or  serving  what's  below  their  love  ? 
Of  this  we  are  certified,  that  we 
Are  shaped  here  for  eternity, 
So  that  a  careless  word  will  make 
Its  dint  upon  the  form  we  take 


THE    VICTORIES    OF    LOVE.  95 

Forever.     If,  then,  years  have  wrought 

Two  strangers  to  become,  in  thought, 

Will,  and  affection,  but  one  man 

For  likeness,  as  none  others  can 

Without  like  process,  shall  this  tree, 

The  king  of  all  the  forest,  be, 

Alas,  the  only  one  of  all 

That  shall  not  lie  where  it  doth  fall  ? 

Shall  this  most  quenchless  flame,  here  nurst 

By  everything,  yea,  when  revers'd, 

Blazing,  like  torch,  the  brighter,  wink, 

Flicker,  and  into  nothing  shrink, 

When  all  else  burns  baleful  or  brave 

In  the  keen  air  beyond  the  grave, 

The  air  love  gasps  for,  sickening  here 

Out  of  its  native  atmosphere  ? 

It  cannot  be  !     The  Scriptures  tell 
Only  what's  inexpressible, 
And,  'gainst  each  word,  to  make  it  right, 
Themselves  propound  the  opposite. 
Beware  ;  for  fiends  in  triumph  laugh 
O'er  him  who  learns  the  truth  by  half! 
Beware  ;  for  God  will  not  endure 
For  men  to  make  their  hope  more  pure 
Than  His  good  promise,  or  require 
Another  than  the  five-string'd  lyre 
Which  He  has  vow'd  again  to  the  hands 
Of  whomsoever  understands 
To  tune  it  justly  here  !     Beware 
The  Powers  and  Princedoms  of  the  Air, 


96  THE   VICTORIES    OF   LOVE. 

Which  make  of  none  effect  man's  hope, 
Bepraising  heaven's  ethereal  cope, 
But  covering  with  their  cloudy  cant 
Its  counterpoising  adamant, 
Which  strengthens  ether  for  the  flight 
Of  angels,  makes  and  measures  height, 
And  in  materiality 
Exceeds  our  Earth's  in  like  degree 
As  all  else  Earth  exceeds.     Do  I 
Here  utter  aught  that's  dark  or  high  ? 
Have  you  not  seen  a  bird's  beak  slay 
Proud  Psyche,  on  summer's  day  ? 
Down  fluttering  drop  the  frail  wings  four, 
Wanting  the  weight  that  made  them  soar ! 
Spirit  is  heavy  Nature's  wing, 
And  is  not  rightly  anything 
Without  its  burthen,  whereas  this, 
Wingless,  at  least  a  maggot  is, 
And,  wing'd,  is  honor  and  delight 
Increasing  endlessly  with  height. 


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THE   KORAN; 

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GUNDERODE. 

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